


It’s What People Do (or The Grinch is No Match for Alphonse Elric)

by UP2L8



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Al so not having it, Days of Yore, Ed being a dick, Gen, Humor, community: celebrate_fma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 07:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8967454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UP2L8/pseuds/UP2L8
Summary: Ed likes to poke the bear.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Celebrate FMA's Days of Yore  
> Inspired by [anotherFMAfan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherFMAfan/pseuds/anotherFMAfan) and [spiralicious](http://archiveofourown.org/users/spiralicious/pseuds/spiralicious).
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://celebrate-fma.livejournal.com/17944.html)  
> 

“It’s a stupid tradition.” Edward’s arms were crossed over his chest as he watched Alphonse at work. “I wonder what kind of antiquated mental health issues resulted in thinking up ridiculous shit like this?”

Back to his brother, Al rolled his eyes as he tacked the mistletoe up in the centre of the living room’s door frame. Sometimes it was best not to respond at all.

“I mean, why would any sane person think that standing under the dangling twigs of a parasitic shrub could somehow earn them a kiss?” Edward demanded to know. 

With the dangling parasite arranged to his satisfaction, Alphonse moved to the large bowl on the coffee table to fetch the last one. The kitchen was next. It was a small apartment, so Al was confident that he had all bases covered. The only doorway not mistletoe adorned was the one leading to the bathroom, because that would be totally inappropriate, and Al was not his brother by any stretch of the means. 

Edward leaned elbows on the back of the couch, watching his brother go about his business, someone else’s familiar smirk on his face. “’Mistle’ translates from Alde Amestrian as ‘dung’. And ‘toe’ translates to ‘twig’. So basically what you’re hanging up in our doorways is ‘shit on a stick’.” 

Al did not dignify that with an answer either. He pinned up the leafy branchlet dead centre in the archway to the kitchen, twitching the thick oval leaves and waxy berries into an aesthetically pleasing position.

“It would make way more sense if you had to _fight_ someone whenever you got caught standing under it,” Ed said, considering. “Now _that_ would be awesome! I might just start a new tradition!” He grinned, imagining the awesomeness.

Al gave the sprig a final adjustment and stood back, satisfied. He glanced into the kitchen at the covered trays of party food he and Edward had spent the day preparing and sighed with contentment. Everything was ready.

“I think mistletoe is poisonous, too,” Ed said thoughtfully, the picture of innocence. “I understand that cats are particularly vulnerable.” 

Al snorted at his brother’s lame attempt to deter him. As if. With all the lovely ladies who would be attending their little Solstice get-together this evening, Alphonse would be a fool to pass up this golden opportunity. Winry. Rose. Maria. Sheska. And, oh God, Miss Hawkeye. The thought of catching her under the mistletoe made Al shiver, and not due to the likelihood that a hail of bullets might be unleashed in response to his brash act, tradition or not. 

The way he saw it, he was just making up for all those lost adolescent years he had spent stuck in a tin can, and he was determined to enjoy every new sensation available – particularly those that involved interacting with the opposite gender. Nothing would deter him from his quest. Not heavily armed first lieutenants. Not his own innate sense of propriety. And certainly not his emotionally stunted older brother. 

Speaking of whom . . . 

“Hanging mistletoe isn’t a stupid tradition, brother,” Al stated, matter-of-fact. “It’s a time honored romantic custom that is thought to bring good luck to a household and to promote love and friendship.” 

“Romantic my ass,” Edward scoffed, lip curled with scorn.

“Also, mistletoe is actually an _obligate hemi_ parasitic shurb. It is not ‘shit on a stick’.” 

“Says you.” Edward’s tone was a clear indication that he did not agree. 

“And by the way, just to let you know, if you plan to fight anyone tonight in order to introduce your new tradition, the first and _last_ person you fight will be me.” 

“Like that would stop me,” Ed muttered, though they both knew that it definitely would. 

“As for mistletoe’s toxicity, I believe you are correct. However, I have secured the sprigs to the doorframe quite securely, and since the cats are so small, there is no way they can reach them. Mittens, Snowball, and Mr. Snuggles are quite safe.” 

Edward tensed, prepared to defend against a possible reference to his own, _perfectly normal_ height, which never came. 

Alphonse instead played his trump. 

“Besides, Colonel Mustang will be here tonight, too.” Al smiled, a puckish twinkle in his eyes. “I wonder; do you hope to catch _him_ under the kissing bough, or would you prefer that he catch _you_?” 

Edward’s sputtered, red-faced denials were proof enough that Al had hit the bull’s eye.

Game over.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas to all who celebrate. Happy holiday to all. :)


End file.
